


from the thunder, and the storm (and the cloud that took the form)

by completist



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eruri Week 2019, M/M, Porn with Feelings, day 2: Ackerbond, this is more like a love letter to commander erwin smith, vague porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completist/pseuds/completist
Summary: Erwin Smith is the promise at every rise of the sun, the vow at every step outside the walls, and the silent tears of hidden grief at every return.





	from the thunder, and the storm (and the cloud that took the form)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seajelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seajelly/gifts).

> Title is from Edgar Allan Poe's "Alone" a poem published in 1875.
> 
> Written as part of Eruri Week 2019 for the day 2 prompt Ackerbond.
> 
> This will be my second fic for this ship and honestly,,,,,,,

**time**

/tīm/

_noun_

  1. the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole.

i.

Time drags on differently when you’re no longer in the underground.

At first it almost felt normal, Farlan would wake up a little after him, then they’d meet Isabel at the mess hall—breakfast would be an uneventful affair, but the fact that food sits readily prepared before them a welcomed albeit a drastic change. Then comes the feel of the harsh sun on his skin—the heat of it still shocking to him even if it rarely ever shows. Levi wonders how long until their skin takes on a darker shade.

Now it feels even slower. Levi would wake up and Farlan would no longer be there to prompt him to move. Isabel no longer waits for them outside the mess hall. The touch of the sun on his skin no longer feels shocking; the anticipation to look even a little healthier with the sunlight no longer an exciting prospect.

Time drags on differently since Levi left the underground, and he finds that time moves even more differently around Erwin Smith.

ii.

The development of the Long Distance Enemy Scouting Formation was a momentous milestone for the Survey Corps. Levi’s second expedition produced even better results with lesser casualties. Granted, the knowledge they are all desperately searching for at this point is still not on their hands just yet but their chances grew to be higher now.

And Erwin Smith stands before all of them; a beacon lighting the Corps’ path. And Levi doesn’t believe in anyone else’s idea or belief before, only ever trusted his own gut, his own strength and wit, but the clouds blocking his sight parted, sunlight pierced through the dark shelter he had resided in for the better part of his life and Levi decided that there is no other man to follow than _this_ man in front of him.

If there is anyone who will bring humanity outside of these wretched walls again, if there is anyone who will free humanity from its concrete cage and into the vast space of the outside world, it will be Erwin Smith.

iii.

Time drags slowly these days. Months passed by and Levi can no longer pinpoint the exact moment it began. 

Erwin Smith, Levi finds, is more than a beacon of hope for humanity, and as he sits across from him, waiting for the man to be over with the mountain of paperwork while sipping his tea, Levi finds himself caught again in the gaze that held his wings in the underground, only to free him in the open sky up above.

“Levi.” Erwin began, “Will you stay a little longer?”

“For what, so I can haul your sleeping ass back to your room again?”

Chuckling, Erwin puts down his quill to drink the tea Levi prepared for him. “Let’s have breakfast tomorrow.”

Levi rolls his eyes, gripping his teacup a little harder than necessary. “We always have breakfast together, dumbass.”

“We don’t have work tomorrow,” Erwin replies, his tone matter-of-factly. “Will you have breakfast with me at the city then?”

Levi looks across at Erwin and finds himself caught again. But this time instead of apprehension, he feels liberation tingling across his skin, treading softly across his spine and lighting up the nerves in his hands.

The grip he has on his teacup softens. “Alright. But I’m not hauling your sleeping ass back to your room again tonight.“

iv.

That morning, Levi decides, that Erwin Smith is far more complex than being a beacon of hope for humanity.

**de·vo·tion**

/dəˈvōSH(ə)n/

_noun_

  1. love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity, or cause.

Erwin Smith is the chill of the early morning breeze in the training grounds, the power of the swings at every shot of the gear, the smell of the trees slowly being drenched by the downpour. He is the scent of dried ink on carefully laid plans, the intricacies of each stroke, the flick of a wrist on the last curve of each letter sent to families of the fallen.

He is the whip of the wind on green cloaks, the roar of command ringing at the lifting of the gates, the creak of metal against concrete, the momentary cast of darkness before the eternal light of the vast open sky breathes life into the Corps once again.

Erwin Smith is the beacon lighting his soldiers’ path. The light leading them to victory; the same light fighting against the dimness of grief, the same light that leads lives to their ends. The hoarseness of each cry of fear, the determination behind each orders, the strength that refuses to dwindle when outside the walls and even more so _within _the walls. He is the smoke fired up in the sky, the sound of hooves on uncharted grounds, the smell of the open sky and the sight of dancing trees. He is the threatening silence of the night outside the walls, the stillness of the trees, and the stars twinkling up above. 

He is— the tightness of the grip on Levi's arms, the choked off moans muffled against his neck, the languid motion of hips meeting his every movement.

"Erwin," Levi whispers, cradling Erwin’s head in his palm as he places a soft kiss on his forehead. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

“Levi,” Erwin gasps, clutching tighter to his arm. “Harder, please.”

Erwin is the half-forgotten memory of a life lived above, the kind that Levi isn’t sure if it was even real. The fleeting memory of that one day learning about history, the weight of a book in his small hands far heavier yet lighter at the same time than a knife, the sound of laughter among kids and the glinting of the sun against black-rimmed glasses, the soft smile sent in his direction, and the starkness of a green bolo tie against a pristine white shirt.

He is the wine glass raised in celebration on suffocating parties at the capital. The confident smiles, the act of leaning slightly to some rich asshat’s personal space in a crucial moment that will make or break the Corps’ next expedition. The stain of red wine on the white gloves of the servant diligently working the room, the gentle breeze of the ladies’ flowing skirts, the irritating booming laughter of businessmen as they casually compete in a pissing contest of assets and marital affairs.

Erwin is the soft hand leading him into each party, the proud voice introducing him, the same voice that is sly in their manipulation. The same hand at the small of his back leading him out of each party at midnight, the same voice asking him if he enjoyed himself despite getting the same old answer of, “They’re all disgusting pigs.”

Time moves differently around Erwin Smith during these times and Levi could sit there and watch as time would hasten itself up around Erwin Smith again.

Levi would sit there and let himself be swept in the whirlwind that is Erwin Smith.

“Faster,” and Levi does, kissing Erwin on the lips, drinking every moans and gasps and groans. Greedy still, of keeping every bit of this Erwin Smith to himself.

How could he not, when he knows that once morning arrives the world will need him again. The world will need his wit and his strength and his faith and his courage and his cunning— the world will need his bones and his blood and his voice— the world will need _everything_ they ask of him. So Levi will not let them have this, not this Erwin. Not this too. Not when they already have all of him laid out on a silver platter being devoured. Levi will not let anyone, not even the night, to catch a glimpse of this.

“Levi.” Not even the night will be lucky enough to catch the sound of Erwin calling out his name.

Erwin is the blue of the sky chased away by the bleeding red of the setting sun. The scratch of pen tracing a straight edge, the bottom lip bitten in deep thought, the forgotten tea sitting close to his right hand during nights of carefully planning out. He is all the probability considered, all the dangers taken into account, all the lost and gain weighted against each other.

He is the loose bolo tie around his neck, the scarf he wounded around Levi on his first winter above ground to keep him warm. The soft kiss at the back of his hand, the whispered devotion in his ear, and the goosebumps playing along Levi’s skin at the press of his lips against his. Erwin is the blue of the sky on the first day of spring, the life blooming in the training yards, the life breathing in the forests and outside the walls.

Erwin is the arms hugging him close, the hand at the small of his back guiding and urging his movements, the fingers weaving through his hair and the hungry kisses on his lips. The silver moonlight reflected on the blue of his eyes, glistening on his parted lips.

Moving even closer, Levi buries his face against the crook of his neck, his thrusts turning erratic as Erwin bites his shoulder, the hand on his back moving to grab his ass; the sound of their creaking bed disturbing the silence of the night.

“Levi, Levi,” Erwin gasps, and Levi has never heard an order spoken in such a tone from those lips before.

Erwin is the dream and the nightmare. The kind that leaves Levi waking up soaked with sweat, his mind fogged and his heart racing to keep up with a race it no longer knows the meaning of. He is the memories brought up by the afternoon rain, the sound of it hitting the window pane on days spent inside writing reports. The fresh small of grass in their early morning walks, and the silence of the halls they walk through during nights when it is too suffocating to be contained within the four walls of their room.

Erwin is the rarely seen talent in the maneuver gear. The strength in the swing of his arms and the power at the landing of his feet. He is the carefully hidden wings that scarcely meets the sun. He is the softness of his fingers trailing along a page on the slow nights he voluntarily sleeps in their room, the same hands comforting the mare that diligently takes him outside the walls, the same hands that reverently touches Levi's skin; like he's sacred, like he couldn't believe he's there, like he will lose him at any given moment.

And he would. They both would.

But Erwin is the promise at every rise of the sun, the vow at every step outside the walls, and the silent tears of hidden grief at every return.

And he is the soft skin beneath his fingers and the hard muscles yielding at his touch. He is the slow kisses in the morning and the fierce, rushed ones on the aftermath of each expedition; like they both couldn't believe the other is still there, that they are both thankful that the other is still there. Erwin is the light touches tracing the scars on his body and the sweet kiss before promptly falling asleep.

He is the whispered promised witnessed by the moon, cloaked by the blanket of the night sky, and protected within the halls of Levi's heart.

v.

Levi can no longer pinpoint the exact moment it began, but as Erwin sleeps soundly beside him, his face relaxed and his breathing calm, Levi decides that once again, time has slowed down around Erwin Smith and he would gladly lie here and watch until he get caught in his whirlwind again.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/completist_) and [tumblr](http://queen---queer.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
